apollo

The cycle comes back on itself and all our heroes in their farce
(Crucifier crucify get crucified)
Have returned to infant form
(Crucifier crucify get crucified)
splashed in photographs on our mantelpiece
(Crucifier crucify get crucified)
We mock and we jaw and cultivate humility
(Crucifier crucify get crucified)
Our heels on the neck of the people we pity
(Crucifier crucify get crucified)

Next time around when cities level and wells pool red
(Pacifier pacify get pacified)
No snapshots will survive
(Pacifier pacify get pacified)
No ticker tape returns
(Pacifier pacify get pacified)
We'll die in the fruits of our own sick memory
(Pacifier pacify get pacified)
No square jawed saviour blazing morality
(Pacifier pacify get pacified)
Will mark a trail bleached of guilt

The vacuous zones we carve from our enmity
We cruise right through them (so aghast)
Dripping with blood from the palms of our tyrants
Dripping with blood from the palms of our tyrants yeh

The endless gash we chewed with our gluttony
We Cruise right past it (jaws agape)
Tripping with blood fault lines from our iris
Tripping with blood fault lines from our iris

And whilst the rot keeps eating away
We govern de facto
Molotovs drip dripping away
His majesty is waiting

denunciations

Spare us your denunciations/too busy drowning/in monosodium glutamate/fighting fire with oil/fighting fire with annihilation/ Selves struggle for supremacy/distinct in uniformity/the queues we form/follow quests/hero scripts/but never lead questions away from conformity. Defending the Indefensible pulls a victim hood over many a gaze/choosing best product for best high/no way/no exit/ramp/to freedom/only more turns/tears cried/onto a hard shoulder / And the contrarion stares/impassive/waiting for the other shoe to drop/some contagion/in our supply/has subverted what humanity/could be traced/Isolate/deny/that otherness can be invested/freely in this market/though some rations might be slim/exogenous factors fall outside this equation/that balances so neatly/in ledger scrolls scripted/By gory nib clutched between perfectly manicured nails/ Direct/Mutual/Aid/Action/Is the resource/worth its weight in god/Money stuffed in mouths and bets laid out across theatres/between the stars whose glow stays subterranean/No tragic-comic martyr to or heroic fool visible/an altogether different kind of resolution

In Time

Reprimand/devils grasp/heady dance//test demands/targets achievable/far beyond your grasp/irretrievable/limits of your consciousness define unbelievable/and perception of the future present past/if we cannot see the prison how could we bend the bars?/defend whats ours/and drop the illusions/stressed head swelling blood pressure contusions/gotta breath/ step forward/pick a path through confusion/ relentless ambiguity intrusions/fuelled by self doubt and excess pollutants/ prevent precision/deep breath/walk away/to another vehicle/still standing post collision/still demanding/more of these ideas/that they could walk for me/in cafes/well thumbed/smudged ink paperback weapon/to collect these moments/fine, incisive irrefutable/shaving away dogma/leaving bare flesh naked to the truths in the air/profane beauty beyond redemption or compare/derelict debonair/sheer sick sheen of chic stripped/corroded by the acid of this indignace/hospital gown/ in remission from the pretence/that this is a sane order to accept/that it would be unhealthy to reject/resist/insurrect/build afresh an alternate/vulnerable flawed thing of beauty that lives and dies on its own terms/on its own time like a flipped hourglass/kinetic energy setting the pace of revolutions that chew up and obliterate this farce/mechanism crafted/die cast/wheels in essential intricate motion/steady charged centred/whilst the cracks form around them/and that which seemed so naturally eternal/crumbles like so much compacted rouge/manufactured dessicated storefront window display of /abusive ideals/until our childrens children have to imagine what it would be like to never feel/learning/loving/unmediated/uncalculated/tasting pleasure/not sin guilt satisfaction with a lifetime guarantee/in/against/beyond/we can do better and we shall.

Scapegoat

Exiled internally/Bullies force conditions through proxies/Mediated agression shows insecurity and anger/Trying to find a focus/This scapegoat stands not in opposition/but facing forward/Beyond violence/The end/Ticking faster/Time will have its victory/But no-one else/This beast/refuses burden/self-imposed/Acceptance of a tax paid in esteem/Contentions dressed as invitations/Bleed into irrelevance/Like the cancered inside of the contender who never was/Pretender through loss after loss after loss/ Living in the told you so end times/ 20/20 shepherds leading the blind/Force fed flock can't read between the headlines/Intelligent/Malevolent/This design/Strives to make artistry a crime/Compassion a crime/Difference a crime/Defiance a Crime/Still/This scapegoat/stands not in opposition/But facing a window/Stained with the grace of vulnerability/Framed in sincerity no malevolence could tarnish/No technology could harness.

8th October

How much of this alienation can we endure?
Stuck in a continum, forced to compete for attention
Divided by rapacious individualisation
We look to stars for inspiration instead of Our Selves
Raw, interdependent, that realisation,
In moments stood shoulder to shoulder or face face
Streaked with tears of joy and desperation
We LIVE
We Desire
We suffer
We laugh into the void together
Echoeing, calling the next moment into being
We've ALL got a story to tell
And when we touch, tired and worn
We glow with the understanding that we won't be torn
We know our Weapons
We Feel our Force
We'll never sell self to buy their product
The Lies of what came before.

Soap opera drama/elastic karma/cause and effect/elastic reflex/hits back harder/so does everything happen for a reason?/or anything at all?/standing tall puffed with pride climbing toward the fall/running out of steps/is twelve enough or too much?/just a little buzzed or just too fucked?/roll light puff/pour a little death into plastic cups/slow suicide murder abrupt/driven by disgust/disambiguation of issues discussed/empires built on sand/relationships on trust/either way it's all going the way of dust/sooner or later/rather the latter/no time for shit talk or chit chatter/better thoughts and feelings on paper/things I'll never near half understand/maybe realisation comes later/maturity is a process not a milestone/never over until we meet our maker/sinners already living in a furnace/steam rising off the surface/never begging favour/false honour or audience/maybe slipping when we run but never stepping fraudulent/just the pain in our souls, heart and raw intent/to grow beyond chysalis states/shed illusions and trace new outlines/sketch artists to architects/broad strokes complimented by intricate movements/and intimate moments/lessons and improvements/failiures and setbacks/salvaging the future from the circumstance that produced them/pretty ugly to beautifully gruesome/so many lost feelings for what moved them/burnt out dead eyes cold heart/take the scenic route around to perpetuate our movement/can't carry dead weight/if you've got no stake/then you're beyond losing/relegated/I'll stay dedicated/doesn't matter if I become a never made it/survival and growth is cause for celebration/good friends inspire me to pass hesitation/dead equivocation/whilst life stays flirting/intimating/more to this/another rising sun beyond the horizon to kiss/romantic notions confuse moments/still trying to do the right thing/stay writing until I stop breathing/might just bring/my intifada/because theres still something inside uprising...

playing on words

Playing on words
I never quite knew all the rules
Rules that measure the length of relevance,
The height of wit,
The diameter of compassion
The radius in the limb of a crooked figure painted on concrete floor and filled with all my aspirations, ideas and principles,
Principally useful for
Purposes of illustration
Hung on the wall of a station
We all pass through,
Commuting our sentences, like lifers in a rush
To conjugate and ink the period, dry and complete,
Writing their liberation, it’s all in the wrist,
And the strain is repetitive,
Unoriginal, derivative, infectious, contagious,
Franchised liability limited,
I’m gagging on orders that I haven’t received yet
Rejecting the recipe, one candidate not willing to be deceived yet
Maybe I just can’t perceive the need yet
To let sleeping dogs lie through ivory teeth
And shovel shit to feed death;
Death of Dreams
Death of Hopes
Death of Ideas
Death of Questions
Then stand in line to give thanks and blessings for the dividend
All the while shouting inside when will it end
I won’t bend, just to break
I’ll spoon against the gently sighing back of love
To find strength
I’ll embrace friendship in a crowded room or all alone in a telephone booth
To slit the throat of pretence
I’ll kiss belief on the cheek
As we meet to travel,
Passports in the pockets of the clothes on our back
To choose vulnerability over defence
Determined Self Ignited Burning
A carbomb in the embassy of cynicism
And I’ll walk away,
Shake the hand of family in a gift shop and find my niece a present
A past, a future, gift wrapped,
With a bow and a quiver of arrows shaped like sunsets
Quivering, racing, rushing to catch themselves again and paint the world
In new colours on a canvas of sky
And just this once I don’t think I’ll keep the receipt
I’ll screw it up and toss it away with all my grief,
Every shot glass of sorrow, Every pint of self-pity,
Shed like hangover sweat,
Remembering the right to forget
And to care again and let go of regret
Appreciate the grace that invites respect
To the party of a lifetime; No dress Code, No Guest List
No pumpkins at midnights chime
Cinderella will go to the ball and stay until six in the morning
Making love and conversation under canopy awnings
And the mouth of destiny sis yawning
Open, choose to step in and keep the lions roaring

Even for one day
Better that than a thousand as lambs
I walk eternity balanced on a grain of sand
And chase Mercury, Never blame the stars or planets
Stride purposefully, along the surface of my insecurities
And stay standing, never branding self as property,
Never give dominion or monopoly to the anything but the light within me, a child of verbs, reborn in each action

scrappy

Does the meaning lie in the conscience?
London is a hitman stalking me in my waking, never quite losing track
I'm a Hooker, a Politican, a Murderer
Obstinate like an unfiled tax return gathering dust
Bank these better crossings from the channel between flags
For the days of borders and walls are really upon us again
A sleeveless tatooed tourist in picadilly circus takes a seat, oblivious, a fire engine in a traffic jam
I read Sam Kashner and lust for love somewhere between beauty and elegance
This many people, this much to do, commerce, transactions
Mapping the city through footsteps and receipts
Somewhere amidst the debris nestles a little scrap of truth
Even more potential, Ever more trees in the wood
Beyond seeing
The tourist pressed mutes; grey cotton over kaleidoscope skin and I'm still waiting for Faith
Let's find the Wedding AND The Feast and be released from our heroes
Steaming piles of noodles peppered to the Nigerian tongue await us in the morning after, and more delights besides, dancing.

Distraction

Distraction/From the main event/Roadside bomb that shorted/Whilst the bombers strafed the city/NO-ONE gets out alive/Fused glass figurines posed in domestic bliss

Provocation/ Of the disproportionate response/Collateral Damage deemed inconsequential to the good/Trumpets sound/A new order from the chaos/Partnership and serenity amongst the ashes and empty bottles

Demonstration/ Of power/Muscles flexed/Vision crystal of just how far the fingers extend/ To push buttons and proffer gold

Invitation/Join the party/Free, lost in jubilation/Celebrate or freeze outside/And take your culture with you

Coronation/ Of the monuments/ The empire/ The dynasty to come/ You could be a part of it/ Or could martyr self for selfs sake of self alone/ A momentary distraction in the gutter of our pristine pavement

Yei

Some say there are snakes
But all I see are butterflies and beautiful birds feeding their families
The quiet is never silence as life buzzes by and around
The cool water lapping past, mud underfoot, cleansing natural asset of this place,
Travelling without moving, all sides green, alive and growing, bonded by this flow
Cars cross in the distance and women wash clothes nearby, neither in a hurry
Long journeys in the embrace of the midday sun, the cool breeze off the water and the watchful patient trees

Dirt

Programmed /By a language/ I never chose or requested/Raised/Nutured/Conditioned/Within the confines of this life/Value/Riches/History/The lies we sell our children/Peppered with saccharine sedative flashes/Mature into the endings we write/In this language/Which thread can I tug/Which trigger can I squeeze/To unravel/To explode/This shiny plastic prison?/Even in a land of grit, sweat and strong roots/Every show/Every tradition/Every taste defines me/Corrosive/Resistant to the fight I make/Technologies shape condition/And tell us which story is ours/Luddite Leveller Digger I/Find a different discourse to flood self with/Biko Lumumba Assata Amaru/Jam a jagged spear/In the spokes of this machine/Our words/Our memories/Or heritage/Are battlefields of love and hatred/Never stop believing/You can shape new tools/To make those fields flourish anew/True Human Heart beating in the dirt.

Untitled scrap (May)

All these earth laws can unwind, unfold a carpet of sky
Over the heads of those transfixed by mortality
We seek a floor of other firmament for our resting place and move to the next to keep the taste
Wet, raw tangle of roots, nettle web contact
Whilst projections float on the other side of this thin wall
Opaque doorway to glitter and plastic junk
A different, junior dose of satisfaction, no reaction, just what happens
The connection, the passion, the discovery of a perfect world beyond our touching flesh in the crevice where two flaws meet, moment balanced fragile

constitution

The part of the living that is dead
Drained of colour, lifeless rotting on the limb
Could be the key, so what happens next?
We kill the vein that pumps our curiosity
For want of realization
Numb, suffocated, accepting concentration of the meaning prescribed
The protocol must be observed
Sacramental
Mythic faux tradition grafted onto this body
Grand Parasitic Farce repeated to grind tragedy into the fresh rain dirt
To lay, nourished, untended, and breeding bitter fruit soon to fall again
The sweet rotting display that won’t reconcile with your constitution
So we perform again, constricting the arteries of this heart with hope
Above and beyond observation of evidence
We wash our feet, our hands our face
This time, could this operation, sustain the edifice; give it flesh, muscle, life and build our future?
Whether playing physicians, dramatists, cultivators, all we want is for this tourniquet faith we tie to come good.

t3

Meaning doesn’t have to be complex
Happiness is not a competition for sophisticates
These shining stars, constellations in our souls
Are simple, waiting patiently for us to make night fall
To bring our universe into view
The gifts we give are reminders when our smiles break
That once we chose to love and we will again
Where the wild things are, is everywhere, and yet desire seems tamed
Like a caged aberration
But this world we explore will erode the pride of cages and baptize us
In joyous vulnerable humility
This is the promise incubated within

untitled

Tenderness, touching tip to tip, dripping against
Feet on the ground, head inside, sheltered organism
Hands pressing cold stone wall, devouring new air to replace that expended
Energizing motion forward, surfaces scratched and wet generating friction
Awkward, happy; our insignia proud in flesh, the marks we make lasting beneath the surface, this healing grinds and glides in slick unison, our performance, our tribute leaving memory in the muscles.

Flesh mind recollection of the sentiment that surpasses reflex, touches me in the most delicate places, 5 AM half sleep frustration cut through with the thought , our embrace, our release, our departure point, the distance maintained, By holding the dignity of silence, shining proud, do we miss the passion of risk?

When the beats rained we reveled in the twist, without worry of what it meant, with the legacy of time spend, weightless in the pull of the break,

This cloth we fashioned hugs our curves and draws out the beauty your smile threatened to outshine, By half moon we cast a shadow, sensuous outline.

ritual

Metal rings persisting, lights flicker in the dust, flames accompany the fever;
We move to the shadow and back, bodies bumping as others sleep
Ritual commanded by skin and material, speaks lifelines through these spaces
Standing in the mix of sweat and sharp smiles, taste of it here fermenting, Lamenting, Celebrating, Praising, the Ashes and rising cloud, under these stars;
Each one a soul ascending, and fading back into the tapestry of blue,
As light blooms and as old replaces old still looking new
The born who know it and those still to learn, labour to love within this realm, as their moments pass; dirt underfoot, possibility overhead, with history within and without, all around,and our hot salty breath, on each others faces, certain proof of this being.

big man

Riding Rough Roads to the centre and back again
With the questions hanging
Is this what revolution was fought for?
What a whole people went to war for?
To fracture, to split, to self-destruct, kill, mutilate, torture?
Allowing vengeance and hate to tear apart the fabric of this community
What do flags and uniforms mean to the dead, exiled or hungry?
Can empty words clothe them?
Can bullets feed them?
And if they perish will they come when you need them?
Exploitation, indoctrination and division might elevate positions
But when you ascend, no longer to pretend, but holding the throne
What will you rule?
A sea of blood and you all alone
With your illusions to comfort you…your medals and stripes, your crucifix
The willing deception of visitors, of adulation shown, at veiled gunpoint
The perception of privilege, of rank, of tone, left redundant
Except in your vicinity, bigger man fed off the tribute of forced loyalty
Sustained by the myth of liberation from slavery
But now you’re the master, and you keep trading, shifting, hiding, now parading
To maintain prominence, brutal dominance standing proud on foundations of fear
But fear is soluble and when the tides of unity wash again
Fear will dilute and transform
And you’ll find yourself leading an imaginary convoy to the rivers edge searching for the safety so long suppressed
And now reconstituted, distributed, far from your solitude
Now with your finery torn and sodden, corruption exposed
Can you look the people who used to call you their own, in the eye, and ask for forgiveness?

Fukishima

We traded gods and insults until we couldn’t tell them apart, Waiting for the zeitgeist when the scorched earth would suffice as foundation for our temples of steel and glass; our crucibles of lethal arrogance. The demise we secured for ourselves in the name of fuelling progress speaks now in divine tongues, even as we lament and name it senseless; humanity devouring itself raw, windswept, drowned, irradiated, atrocity of hubris

friendly

One day we shall break this looking glass
and smear our new mosiac onto pitted concrete walls
With the ruby blood from open hands
Crunching glass fragments into place,transparent lizard incisors
Bring this tableau above the surface into flesh
Choosing to break the unchallenged air
And split the distance between.
We beat the nut against the rock until the orange flesh hangs free
Juice running down our chins
And grin as a drop drip splashes on our open toes
Webs of effect bound with near invisible thread bring our clumsy hearts to death
A certain close of business unless
Our art returns to resurrect
Unpicking, one thread at a time, with the delicate dripping tip, until those silk chains, useless, slip
vulnerable into the dust
Our fingers meet, suddenly free, in the jagged refraction, the play of roles sung into distraction, No time for trivia time no object in tension
Creating, tongues heavy happy waiting for the refreshment lapping at their shore
A shard of crystal sand cuts a whole in my world and you pull another through
A spectrum enveloping the whole we term seperate
A lie so great it exposes our truths

something

Something more, something warm, uncontained,in the air, pushing against the wind to refresh this body. Friction generates movement through this world of obstinate obstacles, barriers we worship and bolster and valorize in textbooks.
Disrupting that discourse is the stuff of freedom, step aside the stream and watch it run dry as it can no longer bleed us, we see dust, wipe away tears and keep driving forward to chase away the blades of order

The weather, the elements, exhaust themselves as resources for now, so I search in vain for the idea original, swinging from the rafters in my head, leaping from each to the next, shouting out for chaos to invest the crowd with youth, These labors have atrophied faculties fast and early. What means can reclaim the joy that is rightfully ours?
Joy is resistance, especially in pain, our voices form the weapons that wage love upon the oppressor in me; the bigot, the abuser, chased down by lust, we dance down the road of corrupted principles, our tongues lashing but not killing, creating spaces of flourishing color and shape, this ignites the fire in my head, feeling beyond closed lip brushing to reach…
something more, something warm,
uncontained by columns or stories blocking or walls blocking our way from this tomb, smashing through EVERYTHING; Terror, Hate, Ignorance, Unlearn through Verse and Have Heart that IDEAS REMAIN BULLETPROOF, These ARE our lives, survive through the trials and legislate through poetry, without seeking expectation of acknowledgement , reference or footnote. Revolution has no bibliography,History breathes, pauses,
spits out the unprepared, so seek nourishment and stand full facing uncertainty. This is our legacy, our birthright, surrounded by violence, beyond the false choices presented, uncontained.

Experiment

Cage fighting in SA
Celebrating 20 years
Town Blacks Compaq update
Avoided
Oxford advanced learners
Reports indicate body
Isn’t he a little warrior?
Mobile Phone dormant crumpled paper
Table
Sugar residue
Generation whirring
In Afghanistan
15 minute Freedom then the dustbin beckons
A yawning inevitable fish fry afternoon
Another reason never to go south of the equator
Joke ting
Turn banks into libraries!
Why limit our horizon?
Turn barracks into galleries
Turn weapons factories into amphitheatres.
Slip back development
Women your vote counts think wisely
Uno siempre piensa
Cannot display invites
Into the blackout blind
Sickly
Policy welfare foremost constitutionally
Thinking about intersections, moist
One of 6 billion ways
Strange requests from beyond the grave
One light thing you can bring for me
Exporting via instruments
In February
Preferences future light free framing only one more day
Model Village immigration exhibit dramtis personae dominate double helix dreamt maharishi low born in gear
seasons hammer down

Mundri 1

Sweet Potato taken by hand, hot to the touch
Never tasted so sweet
The white trucks sit, engines running, no drivers in side, no cargo in sight
No rush, no hassle
Sun really just risen on this Saturday
Wrapped ladies pluck green leaves from stalks
Bundled roots lying ready on the grey metal plate
And the old men sit, suits pressed and straight
Sticks, pipes, glasses and grey hair,
Wearing their time well
The Juba road yields a steady trickle of traffic and the lazy flies do what flies do
The toddler slices another papal in half and slides it my way across the plastic table

(London January) 2

Flourishing by daylight or night, rocking like Aesop to survive, to avoid brackets to bash to pay the rent pay the debt sleep sleep sleep... The Form, The Process, Is the Impact, The Extension, The Awkward Grace Becoming Flesh Before Our Pourus Skin. WE hold it down holding- us- together, sincere, intertwined cords taut, holding our- life-together, until we birth the gestated, nourished, loved product of our passion, with a sprinkle of God, us but not ours and the cords might slacken but when we tug they'll hold firm, veins of a river from a source that never runs dry

These images flashing, now transposed, collapse into the dirt of the bed, as the life flows over and past them, their sediment mineral mingling enriching the life I lead, leaving traces in the blood smearing from fresh razor slices in my face

And the gift crafted swift with no room for mistake

And the pilgrimage thoughts etched in coach at motorway pace

And the end I sought but learnt to push away for the good greater plains and the Joy of Play

All wait patient smiling until I know what to say

(London, January) 1

Still don't understand lonliness
What is it with all of these young men who say 'fuck' about everything except fucking like fuck doesn't have love in?
These tastes, these desires, have held sway all too often, unrestrained, barely kept at bay and I'll stay disastisfied for satisfactions sake
For a while that town might mean a lot to me sitting on my throne
Plotting silent novels I'll never write
Inserting subtle references to affairs incomplete
Tracing furrows in face with coffee and alcohol insomniac nights and freezing bus stop waiting
Escaping containment only to be slaughtered and put away in the attic, a bin bag over my face
or
Laughing and dancing and touching and shouting in reverence to the gods of love and chances taken, the everyday household deities lesser spotted but oft felt, celebrating by your side when that horse come in, that plan comes together, that erotic being looks your way and you want to supplicate, to subject, to sacrifice at her altar of joy, again and again
I could be the resurrection given her blessing
A touch of the face could massage the happy to the surface
One morning wake with her in my embrace could energise compassion sketched in words thus far without the meat of feeling to enact

How far have I come since form room mornings seeing todays news and hearing fraudulent miracles by solo piano?
The same songs keep playing in my soul, and it makes me want to believe that I don't have to wait until the records over to start dancing or to tell you I love you
That our mixtape doesn't need a hidden track as a punchline
Scratching the surface, peeling back the plastic, clicking it into place
Our fingers on Play...Pause...Record
Each breath of silence a moment of aniexity before the wheels keep rolling on
for the cycle to repeat
90 minutes
But every story has two sides, so its really only 45, yet it could be a lifetime
Committed, ageing, but not diminshed

scrap (January 2011)

When you became mortal in my eyes we truly became friends
Your vulnerabilities and limitations jumped out at me and kissed me on the mouth
You’re not the only one saying ‘why so serious? You’re still young’
But talking maturity is a young mans game
The heaviness hasn’t yet settled on these shoulders
So what can I do but conjure it
And do my best to listen inside you

moving in (summer 2010)

you said the hairs on my arms were fluffy
and abhorred my limited taste in bedclothes
But on that bed they made sense and so did you
In my garish 3 stripe jacket
Facing back to front
Your arms outstretched, eyes intent, reading Henry Rollins
(You bent the cover back and I felt small for minding)
Your pure prescence
Natural, easy, impulsive
Took us onto Hampstead Heath in the late night rain
There were four, but I had eyes and ears for one alone
The next afternoon in Soho
You disappear with your boyfriend
Young and curious
In a fashion I can't remember ever knowing
And I feel tired and anachronistic, though mostly tired

Wood Green (November 2010)

Wood Green is Alive
If I know nothing else
I know this
As the people swarm under Saurday twilight
Queasy street lamps leak anaemic orange
buses line up and toddlers run
between their mothers legs
amidst the shopping bags

Wood Green is hungry
Driven
Pulsing
Never pretty
Its hunger charges me through the seat
Energy running
Rushing
Streets are awake now
Wood Green is Alive
Alive to the couples, the rubbish in the gutter,
To the sirens, the shopping shrines and the cinema
Waiting for the moon to rise


When the Vacuous Neon Glares
In tourist ridden squares
There is a Wood Green shaped hole in the heart
In the stomach
In the memory
Brown Eagles perch
No pigeons
Wood Green is free

scrap (December 2010)

This isn’t born knowledge
You have to cultivate it
Im bound to
Its not about paper but that’s a tool to trace it
Blood for blood
Mixed up interrelated
The past and the future live in the present
That’s the basics the bare bones the fundamentals
Drunken master and asetics warring for the temple
The dervish whirls and the pious man sits
But is there to catch me when I sleep
I step too far and just trip
So I’m falling clutching at straws
Nauseous in a crowd rushing for the doors
So much noise could be cusses or applause
I crave silence
Just now I lusted more
The hunger for more put the grind in m jaw
Now outlined with a beard that makes my features obscure
Stole the holy water and drank it
Im filthy and pure
Excommunicated Excavating the raw
Uncut long untouched
As yet unspoilt truth
That energises like the suns rush
Walk with me
That takes some trust
Im scared of the succubus who could end my world with just one touch
Not dumb
Still seen men lose it all to a dumb rut
Or a thousand dumb drinks
Certain people of mine I look in their eye and just sink
All I see is a busted flush
Opportunity spent
Never saw the gaps in the rink and kept skating
Red face never facing up to responsibility
Stuck to juvenile ideals boxed in by invisible walls they never bust through
Im trying to evade that fate and talk truths to touch you
No crown is rustproof